


Spoilt

by Byacolate, The Byger (Byacolate)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mates, Pack Dad Derek Hale, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Whining, and Derek obliges, in which Stiles uses tactics wielded by children, shhh we're pretending that Erica is in the pack forever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-07
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/The%20Byger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek has begun to exhibit the most indulgent behavior when Stiles takes a certain tone. Stiles totally isn't taking advantage of the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. that one time with the foot rub

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt by Tumblr's missmardybum: "Stiles is Derek's mate (officially or unofficially, it's up to you) and he learnt that whining in front of Derek is the key for everything, because then Derek's instincts comes up and he feels the need to make his mate happy at any cost. Want curly fries and Derek is saying no ? Whining. Want to watch a specific movie ? Whining. Want Derek to tell Jackson to stop bugging him Whining. Being lecture ? Whining. Want a foot massage ? Whining."
> 
> Tyger and I talked out six scenarios based heavily on this, though we did take a few creative liberties.

The first time is odd, a little startling to be sure, but Stiles doesn’t even think to question it. It was too good, and there’s always that little worry that Derek will think Stiles is antagonizing him, and the behavior will stop.

 

The day had been long - too long - and it was nearly half past eleven before they stumbled into the Hale house, drenched with sweat and rain and probably some leftover goblin blood which, ew. By the time Stiles had hobbled out of the guest bathroom on achy calves and into Derek’s room, he didn’t have any energy left to so much as put on a pair of sleep pants. Derek, of course, did not share his problem, and stepped out of the master bathroom looking perfectly put together despite their supernatural brawl. Naturally.

 

Stiles sat down on the bed in just boxers, and groaned. “My feet hurt. My legs hurt. Everything hurts. Darling boyfriend mine, you should totally give me a foot rub.”

 

Derek didn’t answer, just rubbed the towel through his hair and shook his head. Stiles sank down even further on the bed, so that he was almost completely lying down. He let out a long whine, flexing his toes in the blanket. “Pleeeeease?”

 

He hadn’t expected anything from it - not really. Wheedling had never worked on Derek when any of the others tried it, and Stiles didn’t actually know if foot rubs really did anything - he just assumed the foot rub was a gesture carried out solely in the production of romantic comedies to show the intimacy - or subservience, probably - between two characters.

 

He was surprised when Derek actually sat down on the bed and lifted Stiles’ feet up into his lap. Stiles leaned up on his elbows and watched as Derek slowly started to dig his thumbs into the pad of his feet. “Uh, wow, so you’re actually doing that. That’s cool. So cool. Oh damn, that feels good right there.” He wasn’t going to give this up, no matter if he thought that it was a little strange that Derek was doing this. And it _was_ strange. Since when did Derek do as he was asked? Hell, they’d been mates (tentatively labelled in Stiles’ brain) since Stiles had been nineteen, even then - after three years of practically living out of each other’s back pockets - Stiles had still been hard pressed to get Derek to do as he asked on a serious level, much less on a teasing one. Even as deep into their first year (tenth month, Stiles reminded himself proudly) as they were, Stiles could not remember any request he’d made of Derek ever being so easily carried out.

 

Stiles decided to lock this memory away for deeper consideration later. ‘Later’ being when he wasn’t about to pop a boner from sexy, sexy foot stimulation. A strong thumb dug into his arch and he gave a groan, pressing against Derek’s leg with his free foot. “How has this not happened until now? Seriously, who would know you’re the god of foot massages? Well, I guess it makes sense, you _look_ like a god, and I just found your superpower.”

 

“I think you’re mixing legend with pop culture,” Derek said tiredly, handling Stiles’ feet like he’d been trained to rub them into blissful oblivion. Stiles groaned and laid back, stretching himself out until his achy calves protested.

 

“Says the _werewolf_.” He stretched out while Derek moved on to his other foot, so that he was laying on the pillow now. It was still fairly warm during the nights so he didn’t bother getting under the blankets. “Werewolf or foot rub god, either way you should come lay down with me. Goblin fighting is tiring.”

 

“Shut up and sleep,” Derek responded, and Stiles just snorted. It figured that Derek would use up his annual ounce of compliancy on a single foot rub. Whatever. Stiles was too worn out to argue. Lazily he flexed his toes against Derek’s palm before Stiles drifted easily to sleep.

 


	2. and the one with Jackson's antics

“What I want to know,” Erica said from her spot beside Boyd, “is who these new hunters are. They’re obviously not related to the Argents, because if they were they would know about the truce.” She rubbed the spot on her arm where one of their arrows had pierced her just the week before. Boyd silently ran his fingers through her cropped golden curls, and the irritation evident in her tensed muscles began to relax.

 

Stiles tossed her a tangerine from across the room before peeling another one of his own. “Allison’s looking into it,” he said, flicking a bit of orange gunk out from under his thumb nail. “Unsurprisingly, even though there’s a sort of network of hunters, the families are pretty secretive.”

 

Jackson was glaring from his corner, arms crossed across his chest. It was really surprising that he had shown up at all for the meeting. "Why don't we just, you know, take care of them? They want to do the same to us."

 

“Right,” Stiles snorted. “Because there could be _no_ repercussions to that whatsoever. It’s not like that’s murder in the first degree in the eyes of the law or anything. And hey, hunters totally don’t have a code that states that werewolves who kill humans make the blacklist. Excellent plan, Jackson.”

 

"Shut up, Stilinski. If we don't get them first, they'll just come back to take us all out," Jackson sneered at him from across the room. To no one’s surprise, three years abroad in London hadn’t actually mellowed Jackson out at all. Whatever tentative bond he’d forged with Derek before he left hadn’t extended to the rest of them by any margin. Stiles secretly believed his attitude was the product of whatever residual insecurity was left over from his high school inferiority complex. They all tolerated Jackson with a pinch of exasperation, since he’d only just returned in time for another supernatural fiasco, but he was still pack. He was still Derek’s. They respected that. "Not all of us have alpha guard dogs to protect us you know."

 

Stiles laughed. “Yeah, you do. See this guy?” He leaned back thumping Derek’s chest with the back of his hand. “He’s _your_ alpha, dude. And Erica’s, and Boyd’s, and Isaac’s, and every little werewolf this town has seen - Scott being a questionable factor.”

 

“Yeah?” Jackson scoffed. “And who’s gonna be his top priority when hunters come banging down the door looking for blood?”

 

The betas were shifting around in their seats, clearly agitated by their packmate’s insubordination, and that just wouldn’t do. They should feel safe within their pack, especially when the outside world had them shaken already.

 

“Derek,” Stiles whined, rolling his head exaggeratedly to ease the tension in the room. “He’s your responsibility. Make him stop bumming us out.”

 

“Jackson,” Derek sighed, and both Jackson and Stiles straightened in surprise. “Cut it out.”

 

“You’re not gonna, like, lecture Stilinski about bitching like a toddler?” Jackson sneered (and privately, Stiles wondered the same thing). Derek eyed him evenly. Under his silent gaze, Jackson’s peeved expression slowly relaxed into something more like grudging abashedness and he shuffled closer to the other betas, plonking down on the arm of the sofa.

 

Well. _That_ was interesting.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was all supposed to be a oneshot 5+1 deal, but Tyger and I are about to head off to Italy in a couple days and I wanted to get as many up as I could before we head off; as a result, these are separated into tiny chapters.


	3. and the one with the kinky werewolf sex

 

“Sorry,” Derek panted, forehead dropping to Stiles’ shoulder as he tried to get control over his shift. It was a problem sometimes, especially this close to the full moon. Well. _‘Problem’_ was a relative term, Stiles thought dryly to himself as he combed his fingers through Derek’s hair and mourned the loss of his pointed ears as Derek calmed. To be honest, Stiles didn’t see why Derek always halted their sexy proceedings when he started to wolf out.

 

Okay, that wasn’t entirely fair. Objectively, Stiles could totally see that Derek was worried that he’d hurt Stiles, somehow maul him with those claws and fangs irreparably. Stiles didn’t want to be hurt, either. His dick, however, was one-hundred percent on board with Derek’s fuzzy features and subvocal growls.

 

Leaning forward, Stiles kissed along his jaw, nuzzling at his stubble. “You know, I don’t really mind the whole furry thing. And by furry I mean the fact that you have this wicked sideburns, not the thing where people dress up as pink animals and call themselves shit like Fierce Fox. Not that I'm one to judge, it's just not my thing. But you being slightly furry could totally be my thing.”

 

Derek was quiet for a couple seconds, about to reach for the door handle to their room but pausing mid-motion. “I really don’t understand what you’re talking about,” he said finally. Stiles snorted, pressing another kiss to Derek’s jaw. Seriously, Stiles had the weirdest thing for Derek’s scruff. And Derek’s clean-shaven skin. And Derek’s prickly stubble. He was kind of hoping one day Derek might try a full-on beard so he could start having a thing for that, too.

 

“Lovemuffin,” he huffed, meeting Derek’s frown with a stupid grin. “Please have your wolfy way with me.”

 

At that he glanced to the door and finally opened it. “You know I shouldn’t do that.” He pulled Stiles into the room, but once the door was closed Stiles stopped and pulled his arm from Derek's grasp.

 

Time to test out his theory. “Pleeeease? I want you to prove to yourself that you won’t hurt me, and I want to prove that I trust you," he stressed, licking his bottom lip, which tingled pleasantly, swollen from Derek's kisses. "And plus I think it would be really hot and sexy, so please, Derek?” He made sure to put just enough of a whine in his words, as well as his best shot at puppy eyes. Derek’s jaw dropped and he stared at Stiles for what felt like ages.

 

And then Stiles was being crowded up against the wall, Derek’s face buried into the side of his neck, and those were _definitely_ claws pressed up against the small of his back. He shuddered, arching his body into Derek’s and tugging at the wolf’s dark hair.

 

He let out a groan, not even minding when he was shoved flat against the wall. Derek made a sound, which Stiles could have sworn was the lowest growl he'd ever heard coming from the depth of Derek's chest. “Ah, hey, why don’t I work on the clothes thing, huh? I’m sure you'd manage just fine but I don’t really want unfashionable holes in my jeans.”

 

“Occupational hazard,” Derek said around a mouthful of fang and Stiles laughed breathlessly, kissing Derek’s temple.

 

“Shut up, hot stuff. I’m gonna strip and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

 

Somehow he managed to throw off his shirt and shimmy out of his tight jeans, though Derek was trying to make it as difficult as possible with his greedy hands and mouth. Each little prick of claws and teeth made Stiles’ pulse flutter and he was probably hard enough to cut glass. Stiles reached up, running his fingers through Derek’s course hair at the back of his neck. Yes, this was definitely a good idea. Not to mention he now had proof of concept for the whining trick.

 

It was probably the most dastardly power Stiles would ever have, and the possibilities were endless now that he was aware he had it. Never in a million years had Stiles dreamed his groaning could ever work on _anyone_. His father had proved immune time and time again, and he’d always thought the same of Derek, too. Maybe it was just - just a werewolf thing? Maybe when the protective instincts kicked in over pack humans (a little belatedly, considering the whole shoving-and-bashing-against-things that had made up the beginning of their relationship) this was the result. Further research was necessary.

  
Not now, of course. Now was time for sex that flirted with the edges of fetish territory.

 

That was something he could _definitely_ be into.


	4. and the one with the caffeine addicts

Maybe it was a wolf thing.

 

Stiles was curious, ever the scientist, and it was worth a try to see if his newfound superpower could be used on wolves that weren’t his boyfriend.

 

Boyd was nearly falling asleep to his left, head drooping dangerously low toward his cereal bowl, and Erica just looked angry at the entire world. Stiles could feel her pain - since when did they actually _run out of_ coffee? Most of them drank it by the gallon, everyone but Isaac and Derek, so it made no sense that not a single one of them had remembered to pick another hoard of the stuff at Sam’s Club. Stiles himself had been down for a crate of pasta and a barrel’s-worth of pesto and orange juice just days before. He was kicking himself, and if Erica’s glare was anything to go by, she was thinking of doing the same.

 

The muted crunch of gravel under tires outside made them all sag with relief, and the wrinkle in Erica’s brow began to smooth out.

 

“Get the tankard mug for me,” Erica demanded, and Stiles saw his opportunity. He tilted his head back and let out a childish whine.

 

“I don’t wanna make it. I can barely hold myself up - _barely_ better than Boyd. Can’t _you_ make the coffee?”

 

The crazed look in her eye suggested that perhaps it wasn’t a wolf thing after all, because _damn_ , he hadn’t been this afraid of Erica since she’d clubbed him with a hunk of his Jeep in sophomore year.

 

“Erica,” Derek said, cutting her growl off right at the beginning as he walked in with his beautiful face and even more beautiful crate of instant coffee. “Set up the machine.”

 

“I’m going to murder you,” Erica promised darkly even as she stood and stalked over to the industrial-sized coffee-maker.

 

Boyd’s forehead dropped into the bowl as he began to snore.


	5. and the one with the rest stop munchies

 

Once he knew it was a _thing_ , Stiles tried his best to only use his powers for good. Really, he did! He had to watch himself, not abuse the weirdly awesome influence his nasally whines had on Derek’s alpha wolfy instincts, which was a thing he never thought he’d have to do, ever. Cross his heart, he only pulled the move in situations that absolutely, definitely warranted it.

 

“I’m so hungry I think I’m gonna die,” he groaned, leaning forward to bump his forehead up against the Camaro’s dashboard. Sometimes he whined to himself just for fun now, when he was alone, since he had to watch himself around Derek. When he wasn’t careful, he ended up with various surprises piled into his lap - an errant grumble to himself in the laundry room about ratty old towels had landed him a mysteriously Derek-free afternoon and a dozen soft multicolored bundles from Bed, Bath and Beyond that evening; an irate rant about the quality of nostalgic cartoons had him lugging in several packages from Amazon the next day to reveal enough box sets of Cartoon Network originals to drown a 90’s child; a quick text during one of Derek’s alpha retreats with an allied pack offhandedly mentioning how chilly Beacon Hills had gone overnight had all the betas stumbling one by one into Stiles an Derek’s bedroom to snuggle up with him under the covers, grumbling about stupid alphas texting them at seven in the morning just to warm up their mates.

 

Suffice to say, he had to be careful when and where he wielded The Whine.

 

Content that Derek wouldn’t be able to hear him from inside the gas station through all the pulsing music inside the car, he sighed and whipped out his phone. “I’d kill for some curly fries right about now,” he hummed, and texted Scott the same thought right after, grinning at his friend’s quick response. Apparently, Scott could go for something deep-fried and seasoned right about now, too. “Getting tired of Allison’s veggie lasagna, eh, Scotty?” They texted back and forth for awhile, and when Derek’s door opened, Stiles jumped. “Dude,” he breathed, flattening a palm over his racing heart. His ridiculous boyfriend slid into the car with all the grace of a lupine creature of the night (shut up, Stiles’ brain turned to mush whenever Derek did something as amazing as getting into a car), and a second later Stiles’ lap was piled high with all the sweet and savory delights a gas station in the middle of nowhere at 2 a.m. had to offer. Which was to say, a lot.

 

“There were no curly fries ready to go,” Derek said, setting a heavy plastic bag down at Stiles’ feet. “They had some frozen, though. When we get home, you can-”

 

“Ugh, you’re just so...” Stiles looked down at the pretzel and the cheese dog and the little plastic-wrapped pies in his lap and leaned over to pull Derek closer for a deep, delving kiss.

 

But not for too long. He had a lapful of hot food, after all, and a deep frier at home to light up. The sex of the sated would have to wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [Byacolate's Tumblr](http://byacolate.tumblr.com/) and [Tyger's Twitter](https://twitter.com/Whitetyger123).


End file.
